The Lost Fisherman (Fisherman 2)

“So I am just somebody?”

Grabbing the neck of his hoodie, I tilted my head back. “I share you, so you have to share me and my enthusiasm. If you must know, I was looking for my mom and Rose first because occasionally I value self-preservation. And I was reminded of that when I got here and saw Angie’s car.”

“Come trim my beard before I get into the shower.”

“Your cast is off.”

He grinned slowly, taking my hands away from the neck of his hoodie and pressing them to his face and the beard he wanted me to trim. “Come trim my beard before I get into the shower.” Fisher’s signature expression always seemed to be mischievous, but only with me. I never saw it quite the same way when he looked at other people.

Not his friends, Rory and Rose.

Not his sort-of fiancée.

Not his family.

Just me.

“I have to get home soon. I’m still on call for the next few days.”

“Come trim my beard before I get in the shower.”

I laughed at my lost fisherman stuck on repeat. A one-track mind and the most convincing smile.

“Remember what I said about self-preservation?”

Turning his head, he kissed my palm. “I would never hurt you.”

Oh, Fisher … I’m already hurting in ways you can’t even imagine because you don’t remember.

“What do you want for your birthday?”

I laughed, pulling my hands away from his face. “To not go camping with you and your fiancée. I realize you can’t say you’re sick because you’re never sick, but you could make up some excuse.”

“How do you know that I’m never sick?”

“Because you told me.”

He frowned. “I don’t remember that.”

“I know you don’t. Trust me … I know.”

Taking my hand, he pulled me toward his front door.

“I’m going home.” I made a weak attempt at pulling away from him.

“Eventually,” he said.

“Fisher …”

“Nurse Capshaw, queen of the veiled birth.”

As the door closed behind me and he started to release my hand, I squeezed my grip on him and yanked him to stop. “Veiled birth?”

“It’s another term for en caul.”

I nodded once. “I’m aware. But how do you know that?”

He shrugged. “Probably a crossword puzzle or something.”

“I haven’t put that in my puzzles.”

Fisher shrugged a second time and tried to turn away from me.

Again, I tugged his arm. “Fisher Mann … you like crossword puzzles. You liked them before I made them for you.”

He eyed me for a few seconds with the most contemplative expression. “Are you genuinely asking me or are you testing me?”

“What do you mean?”

“I know so much about Angie that there are some days I don’t feel like I’ve lost memories of her. I start to wonder if the events in my head are my memories or things I’ve been told because I’ve been told everything. The only test I have with her is my feelings. I don’t remember how I felt about her. But with you it’s different.”

“Different how?” I released his hand, feeling the shift. Now I was the one being interrogated, not him.

“I feel like you’ve given me bits and pieces, on a need-to-know basis. My story with Angie makes sense in my head. Childhood friends. On and off again relationship when we got older. Me doing my thing. Her doing her thing. Our families keeping us connected. She comes back to town for her mom. We rekindle our romance. Even if I don’t feel it now, it makes sense to me.”

“Well, that’s good.” I gave him a tight grin as I fiddled with the hem of my shirt.

“From everything my family has told me about who I was, I don’t think I would have taken a part-time employee to my workshop. I wouldn’t have showed her how to sand anything. Yet that’s your story.”

“You thought a lot of Rory. I’m sure it was a favor to her. And I was relentless. You probably just did it to shut me up.”

With his brow drawn tight, almost cemented in place, he inched his head side to side. “Why were you so certain I’d like crossword puzzles?”

Another half shrug. “I wasn’t. Why are you being so weird? Have you remembered something? Memories can return slowly, and they can cause confusion as you try to piece them together and make sense of them.”

“Do you know an attorney named Brendon?”

I swallowed hard. “What? Why?” It barely made its way past the constriction of my throat.

“Because I saw him yesterday.”

“Where?”

“At my therapist’s office.”

“You have a therapist?”

Fisher nodded like it wasn’t a big deal.

“Since when?” I asked.

“Since yesterday.”

“Why?”

“We’re not talking about me.”

“We are. Why?”

“Because I was in an accident. I’m missing part of my memory, and I have a fiancée and maybe a girlfriend.” He shook his head like talking about it bothered him. “And it’s not my point anyway.”

“What’s your point?”

And did you tell your therapist about me?

“Brendon recognized me. He must be a patient at the same office. He was leaving when I arrived. He said hi. Of course, I had to apologize for not knowing him and give my quick spiel about my accident.”